


Tentacle Porn, but the Tentacle is a metaphor.

by Theo_Lannister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Drunk Sex, F/M, Female Theon Greyjoy, Period-Typical Underage, Rule 63, Sex, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22558891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Lannister/pseuds/Theo_Lannister
Summary: Normally, these things would happen over ravens between two high lords. She would have been betrothed a year or so after first flowering, her father writing to some other Iron Lord. She was, after all, a princess of the Iron Isles. Of course, that wasn't how it happened at all.A female Theon Greyjoy decides she wants to get A. Fucked up and B. Fucked
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	Tentacle Porn, but the Tentacle is a metaphor.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by The MightFenek on Deviantart (Check out their page: https://www.deviantart.com/themightfenek) and, more specifically, his Theon TG. I suggest you look at that art before reading, as it inspired everything I wrote. 
> 
> (https://www.deviantart.com/themightfenek/art/Fem-Theon-ASOIF-Rule-63-822222329)

Normally, these things would happen over ravens between two high lords. She would have been betrothed a year or so after first flowering, her father writing to some other Iron Lord. She was, after all, a princess of the Iron Isles. Of course, that wasn't how it happened at all.

What happened was that her father was crushed, her brothers put to the sword and herself being ripped away from Pyke to Winterfell. She was more of a hostage than a true ward. A true ward would most likely have a betrothal with her host's son. She didn't. She grew up playing and sowing with Sansa Stark, shared her first cup of mead with Robb Stark, and shared her first kiss with Jon Snow. But there was always a separation. The bastard always faced cold fury from Catelyn Tully, but Lord Eddard was always kind to Snow. But Theonna didn't even get that. So she made do with the children.

Sansa was rather boring, always wanting to sow or trying to sing with Theonna, or crying about the gallantry of Knights. Arya was much more enjoyable, but she was too young. She was always running around the castle, pulling pranks and making chaos. It was just rather unfortunate that she was too young to enjoy men yet. That left her only Jon Snow and Robb Stark. Jon Snow was always willing to speak with her, but he did not  _ talk _ to her, and the difference between common courtesy and enjoyment was a vast gulf. Robb Stark, however, was a different matter altogether.

She would never go so far to have Robb Stark break her maidenhead, he was far too honorable for that. But she did enjoy his presence. He would never steal drinks, but when she did he was always one to share it. So they grew closer. But no ravens came or went to Pyke.

* * *

"Breathe in, my lady." Theonna groaned, but she did breathe in sharply, and almost immediately felt her breathe be expelled when Jeyne Poole pulled sharply on the strings of her corset. Theonna didn't quite understand why she needed to wear a corset. Even without a corset, her figure was already better than most women in corsets. But when the Queen and King came, one must look their best, as Septa Mordane was one to say. So, tight corsets and tighter dresses. Hurray.

The royal visit to Winterfell was most likely going to be the most exciting event Theonna had seen in her decade. Whether or not she'd enjoy it was a different question altogether, but she was sure she'd find a way to amuse herself. A hundred and a half strangers would soon crowd into Winterfell's gates. A hundred and a half people who don't know that Lady Theonna must never be touched. Oh yes, she'd find  _ someone _ interesting to do that night. 

"I had the seamstress work on this one especially for you, my lady," Septa Mordane said, holding up a dress. It was pitch black, with cloth of gold lace covering it from wait up, save for the openness of the back, in elaborate depictions of... something or other, she couldn't quite see. The skirt, however, was solid black, darker then maester's ink with not a single splot of color, save for the gold thread that trimmed the edge. The golden trim was also present on the top of the dress was the low cut gown showed far more than good and propper Eddard Stark would ever purchase. "I do apologize, my lady, the measurements had to be changed so many times, the tailor just decided to leave it deep in the front," Septa Mordane said when she saw Theonna starring. 

"Oh, don't apologize Septa. I think I might actually like this one." Theonna gave her best-disarming smile until she saw the bony old woman pull out a box of eastern colors. Sansa gushed about the wonders of these powders and gels, but Theonna made to run, only to remember she was wearing exclusively a corset. "For your eyes and lips, my lady." Theonna tried to glare daggers at the old bitch, but sat down and put on her best "I hate everything" face as the old Septa began coaxing her into a dress, only changing facial expressions when the Septa asked her to put her lips to place on the gloss. At least it was black.

* * *

Whilst she certainly loved her dress, it was far too cold. The second she left her quarters, a shiver ran over her as gooseflesh popped up all over her skin. She considered finding a tight fabric or scarf she could put over the dress, but Sansa Stark, giddy as ever, had already grabbed her hand to go meet with the Royal Party. Theonna didn't understand the rush, Robert's Stag had only been seen when Theonna had begun to put on her Kraken earrings and necklace, which meant they were more than a quarter-hour out of Winterfell. But she mustn't hurt Lord Eddard's precious little girl or her feelings. So Theonna followed, cursing the cold.

She took her spot, four feet to the left from Ned Stark, which meant she didn't even have the warmth gained from the entire Stark Family. At least she wouldn't be expected to kneel in her dress, only a courtsey; though that was also rather annoying. What was even worse was that she was expected to wait for the royal party, and the dress' open back made the cold of Winterfell's courtyard awful.

A sharp whistle cut across the courtyard, and the yard fell close to silence. Theonna clapped her hands and waited. She'd grown up with thralls, no: "Servants," in the green lands, and knew one of them would come running. It was some maid who came over. "My Lady, what do you require?" She saw Eddard Stark roll his eyes but no one stopped her. "Bring me a cloak. Something black. A cape would work as well. Something warm." The maid looked confused, "Should I grab a Night-"

"I don't quite care. Cloak, now. Go." The maid ran off. Arya began to guffaw, and Robb soon followed with a very unmanly giggle, even Jon Snow cracked a smile. Though the most wonderful expression was Sansa's gaping mouth, opening and closing like a fish. The Maid returned near moments before the horn sounded announcing the King's party. It was a large cloak, double weaved with black fur trim and hood. She had just clasped it when the gate of Winterfell opened, her beginning to warm up. The men took a knee while she and the other high born ladies curtsied. 

The man who smashed her father's walls had bloated. He seemed as though he had eaten his massive hammer, and gained over thrice its weight. His destrier, a large horse that could have put any other beast to shame, seemed to be trying his best to walk imperiously but was clearly having an issue in the matter. Behind him was a blindingly handsome man with hair that shone in the sunlight like gold, which made the squat, splayed leg little man in the strange saddle look all the more hideous.  _ The Kingslayer and his pet Imp, _ she knew at a glance. And behind the Lannister brothers was the most impractical carriage she had ever seen. It was unable to enter the gates of Winterfell, more of a carrick on wheels than a propper carriage, so the Lannister woman and her spawn, all blonde-haired little shits, had to walk through the muddy courtyard. Those who were made to kneel, men and peasant women, had to stay in a kneel, which was easy enough. She, and the other high born ladies, however, had to do an awkward half squat-half stand maneuver that hurt her thighs and made her cringe. It amused his grace, King Robert Baratheon of the solid suet, to for his old friend Ned Stark to sit in the dirt. When the immense man began to laugh, she corrected her posture and released her breath and untensed her legs. 

_ Fuck Corsets! _

But she smiled, said, "my grace" to the king and queen, did a little courtsey for the sniveling six-year-old prince and tiny little girl. The Queen, at least, seemed to be enjoyable. Her smile was plastered on as if it was made of marble, but her eyes scanned Theonna as if she was analyzing a fly that had flown into her lamp. Theonna gave the Queen a smile of her own. Most women had said that her smile was her best trait, while most men said it was her  _ second  _ best, normally followed with a shitty little rhyme with a word that both rhymed and alliterated with "Best." While Theonna had to sleep in curlers if she wanted ringlets, the Queen didn't  _ look _ as if she had to, but she seemed as comfortable in a corset as most men looked in breeches. For all the talk about the Queen being a great beauty, she was a letdown. She certainly was fair, fairer than most in Westeros, Theonna guessed, but she didn't quite fit the picture that Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark had promised. 

* * *

She was used to sitting on the top of the dais, as the Bastard was, but with a royal guest she was positioned below, still in a spot of honor though not near as honorable as she was used to. And the fact that her seat had been taken by that blonde-little girl was more infuriating. She was making eyes at Robb Stark as if she wasn't a child.  _ It's fine, _ she said,  _ it'll be easier for you to sneak away if you're not on the top _ . 

Most women of six-and-ten were already wedded, bedded, and with child. Theonna was still a maiden and unbetrothed, annoyingly. She meant to fix that, though not the "with child" portion, which she very much planned on avoiding. Even "despoiled" she would still make a better match than most lords could hope for.  _ Most aren't from 8 thousand-year-old families, _ she reflected, but none the less continued on her small escapade. 

But first was a round or three of servings. Fresh venison, duck, far too many variations of swine, and the best wine Winterfell had to offer. This wine was Arbor Gold but from a relatively par vintage from Theonna's Great-Grandfather's day. But when White Harbor beer was served, the evening improved. It was thick stuff, more akin to honey then to wine, but it was damn good. That bear was accompanied by soup, a fish, also from White Harbor, no doubt, and a flat, doughy cake covered in honey, berries, and cream. Theonna, at that point, had eaten far too much and didn't plan on vomiting on the day she lost her virginity.

The Bastard was sitting among a group of hedge knights and his uncle, drinking far more than a boy as inexperienced as he should be. She planned on shoving him over, no doubt spilling some drunk fool on the end off the bench, but that planned was spoiled when the Bastard stood up and attempted to walk imperiously out of the hall, despite his drunken stumble.  _ What an ass, that one has,  _ she sat, thankful she wouldn't have to push. She sat down next to Benjen, whose shoulders were bare. She smiled at him and gave a wink as she sat. 

"Admiring my cloak, old man?" She tried to seem coy, but instead, she began to break into a giggle,  _ like a stupid girl _ , she thought. "Oh quite," the Stark muttered in a bored tone, "Do you think I've gone and made him upset? I do hope he doesn't do anything rash."

Theonna made a rude noise, "Him? I don't think he quite knows  _ how _ to do something rash, let alone doing it." She took a healthy sip out of the Bastard's leftover mug, only to spit it back out onto the floor. "Drowned God be good! How much honey did he put into that damn mug!"

Benjen snorted, "Half the comb, I'd gather. Though if you truly wish to know, go and ask him. Or I can if I can have  _ my  _ cloak back." He grinned back at her, not unkindly.

"And let a lecherous old man like yourself see my bare shoulders? No, I think not." She moved to stand but found that someone was spinning the table. She caught Benjen's shoulder and used to help steady herself. She began to walk away, no doubt stumbling just as the Bastard had before she leaned back to grab Benjen's tankard. "To help keep me warm," she told him as she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders even more so. In the dim light of the Hall, she could've looked like any other serving wench. Large breasts threatening to pop out of a corset, long, unbound hair, and stumbling only  _ slightly _ less than Robert Baratheon. She only felt her ass slapped once, though she managed to clobber him with her tankard before anyone else tried anything.

* * *

In the half-light from the open doors, Jon thought, Tyrion Lannister stood taller than any Giant. But if Tyrion's shadow was a giant, then the woman who stumbled out after he was a Titaness. Tall, though not as tall as Jon, was a very well endowed woman with black curls waving about her. She half stumbled, half strutted over to Jon, as if every step she took was a deliberate attempt to seduce, which was only ruined by the fact that she had difficulty walking in a straight line. Her left shoe slipped onto the ground, and Jon found himself moving to catch her. Fortunately, what would have been a puddle had frozen, so that no one found themselves soaking wet. Unfortunately, both of them were drunk and standing on a large chunk of slippery ice. Doubly unfortunately, the cup of ale that the woman had most certainly  _ wasn't _ frozen, and thus she was, indeed, soaked.

"Now now!" She raised her voice in a shrill mockery of anger, "you've ruined my dress? What would the dear Septa think of this?" Jon Snow, who was struggling to stand up, yet was having an issue placing his feet, didn't know how to respond. "I- uh, I'm so sorry, my Lady," Jon said loudly to make up for lost time, "it wasn't intentional, I'm sorry, I can see If I can-"

He was cut off when the women kissed him, and he, as an almost gut reaction, shoved her hard. He hadn't expected a kiss. A shove, maybe a punch, but not a kiss. "Oh Gods, now I've gone and fucked up, I'm sorry, miss."

For a moment he thought she was crying, but upon closer inspection, her sobs were instead, of all thinks, laughter. Loud, guffawing, laughter. And yet, Jon could detect a note of sadness in that laughter too. He heard the woman mutter something between gales of laughter, but he couldn't understand it. It ended as quickly as it began, as she hiked up her skirt and stood up. She walked over to him, less wobbly than before, and stood in a powerful stance in front of him. "You have to make this up to me, Bastard," she said as though she were a queen, "You will pick me up, and carry me to your chambers, where you shall give me some warm, clean clothes."

Her argument brooked no reply, only she held out her hand, and motioned that she wished to be picked up. Jon hadn't noticed it, but the mug was still in her hand as she did so. "Come on, Bastard, let's go." SO he walked

* * *

To be honest, she wasn't sure why him, in particular. He wasn't as handsome as Robb was, with his long face and sad, dull eyes, nor was he as talkative as any of the southerners who had ridden North. But he was there, and just as drunk as she. She didn't know how he avoided dropping her, especially when she was trying her best to make her breasts rub against his chin. She knew he knew, judging by the poking she felt in her back, but she wanted a more visible form of it.

When she did enter his room, she was glad to see that a fire still burned in his hearth, though one which had greatly died down to just embers. But his room was warm, especially compared to the dreadfully frigid yard. "Put in a log," she said, attempting to copy the Queen's western drawl, "Do you expect me to change my clothes in this icebox?"

The Bastard made no response, though he did as she bid. Which she was glad enough about. She took out her Kraken shaped earrings, along with her other jewelry and rolled them up into her stolen cloak. It wouldn't do to have him learn who she was right at the finish mark. After that, she undid the lace of her gown, leaving her in just her corset. Which was exactly when Jon Snow turned around. She could tell he was excited. He had every reason to be, she knew how she looked, she knew how she was posed, and she knew what  _ he  _ wanted. All Bastards were the same, they wanted to love and affection from those around them, especially those of the gender of their missing parent. Jon Snow needs a woman to love him the same way he needed air and water.

And if he could provide her loving too, she felt obliged to help him. 

"Oh," was all he said, though his body language said more. His body stiffened in surprise, and something else stiffened too. "You take off those boots while I escape from my corset, Bastard, and then I'll let you loose."

"No, I.. I can't! I can't do this!" Jon Snow yelled in confusion and fear and lust. She stood up from the bed, and carefully, moving her legs so that her hips rocked softly as she walked over to him. She grabbed his cock, with one hand, while she placed the other into his long, shiny hair,  _ this is hair any maid would kill for _ , "Oh, I think you can." She squeezed Jon. "Now, clothes: off."

He gulped but didn't argue. And he did what he was told.

Removing the corset proved easy, once she found a knife to which she used to expertly cut off the laces in the back. Meanwhile, her lover for the night was taking off his woolen pants without taking off his boots, which was giving him quite the problem. He did, however, manage to remove said pants and shoes, leaving him with only his shirt on. That was something she was able to easily remedy with another stroke of her dagger. He gave out a gasp, while she a giggle. "What, moaning already? Am I the first woman you've ever-  _ oh _ ."

She'd accidentally cut him, she saw. Not enough to cause long term pain or scarring, but enough to be noticeable, and enough to create a small trickle of blood. She didn't know what inspired it, but she kissed him on the small cut, right above his pectoral. And then she kissed higher, with more force, and then higher again. It wasn't intentional, but she found her self biting Jon when he finally,  _ finally _ , put his spear in the right spot. She felt her toes crinkle, which put slightly off balance. She pulled Jon over to the bed with her, and kissed him again, this time on the neck, biting again. And then they were well and truly at it. 

She felt a thumb on her nipple, slowly circling it, and she felt her self breaking off from one of her love bites as she began to squeal when he pinched her nipple. She panted as his hand struggled to hold her breast, and he was groaning softly too, each time he pulled out and pushed back in, into  _ just _ the right spot. "Uhh, uhh, uhh!" She had heard women fuck before, and always found the yelling and screaming to be rather dumb, and yet she found herself doing it, all the same.  _ Like a stupid girl,  _ she felt herself orgasm and felt as Jon began to speed up, evidently reaching close to his limit again. She didn't climax a second time, Jon finished before she had the chance and thus she found herself up halfway without a paddle, so to speak.

"Gods, Jon, finish me!" She felt like a raving lunatic, but he listened. "Sit up, please," he asked in a voice husky and parched. She did as she was bid, and found herself spreading her legs for the Bastard. And then he did something she wouldn't have guessed. He lowered his head into her and began to move his tongue around. Around quite a lot, until he found  _ just  _ the right spot, where he linked, circling. She touched herself in the clit before, but having  _ him _ do it was something different altogether, She tensed up legs and stretched, her fingers pulling onto his hair as she stifled a moan by biting her lip. 

And then she felt herself collapse.

* * *

Uncle Benjen looked at him with sad, grey eyes, much like his Father's. He put his head into his hands. "Jon, when I told you to sire a bastard or two, I didn't mean in that very same night."

"I, I didn't mean to, uncle, I swear!" He knew he sounded like a child making excuses, but it was the truth. He hadn't planned on having sex with a woman, and he  _ certainly _ didn't expect that woman to be Theonna, not that he'd known at the time.

"Was it merely an accident that found the two of you naked in your bedroom?" Benjen looked disappointed, "I'm First Ranger, Jon. I can smell shit from a mile away, and this stinks of bullshit, Jon."

Jon didn't know what to say to that.

"I need to tell your father, Jon, you know that? And this also requires that all thoughts of joining the Night's Watch are over." Jon had not expected that. "Brandon, Gods rest his Soul, has sired a great number of bastards, I don't doubt, but most were made between him and common women, where it was only expected he send them a bag of silvers and Arbor Gold. Only Barbery Ryswell, that scheming bitch, was highborn enough that he made her drink moon tea."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Benjen."

"I'm not the one who put a bastard in, Jon. You should apologize to Theonna. And to your father."

"My father?" Jon was surprised. "What, why?"

"Because of you, your father needs to write a very uncomfortable letter to Balon Greyjoy."

* * *

As her father had grown older and older, she found that it was easier if any letter coming to Pyke would go to her before it went to Balon Greyjoy. Her father was an old, spiteful man, prone to making brash, stupid decisions. For the past three years, Asha had found herself as acting lord of the Iron Isles. She'd gotten letters from Winterfell before, most to mention Theonna's birthdays and such, but not much.

So when she got a letter from Winterfell, she figured it would be more of the same, though it was not her birthday for another three months. Pulling out a dirk, she slowly slid the letter open with the tip of a knife. Bored, she read the letter without thinking, having already guessed what it would say. "To the Lord Reaper of Pyke, blah blah, Theonna is doing great blah blah, and everything is perfect blah blah." And indeed, the letter did start that way, but her scanning was interrupted by the phrase "Breaking of her maidenhead" and later "arrangement of a marriage."

"Oh Drowned God give me strength," she called for a bottle of Maester's black. She'd have to make an uncomfortable letter.


End file.
